


segmented

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three parts to Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	segmented

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/gifts).



> since you said you were interested in the concept of [sedoretu](fanlore.org/wiki/Sedoretu), i tried to do something in that vein. i don't understand the concept fully, so i took what i did get (the idea of the evening/morning couples and the one platonic, sexually forbidden couple) and tried to apply it to stiles, scott, allison, and lydia. i went for scott - allison (morning) / stiles - lydia (evening), which made scott x allison and stiles x lydia platonic. i hope that was okay <3
> 
> anyway, regardless of whether or not i did the sedoretu correctly, have some stiles x scott x lydia x allison polyamory! :D

Stiles sometimes wonders how he went from being in love with Lydia to simply being her roommate. But maybe _that_ makes more sense than anything, because when he’s truthful with himself, they were never good romantically. Sure, put them together in a crisis, arm them with their intelligence (and the added bonus of baseballs bats and lethal screams), and they were unstoppable.

It doesn’t surprise Stiles that Lydia was like his sister. A sister whose rack he couldn’t help but appreciate (with the occasional jerk off fantasy; so sue him, his dick liked most things if he was honest).

Thursdays were their days. They went to the grocery store, to Target, and out to eat. They ordered in Thai and watched TV shows from their backlogged DVR. Lydia rested her feet in Stiles’ lap, and he rubbed comforting circles on her ankles. Sometimes she ended up in his arms, curled against his chest while they watched television. She always woke him when it was time for bed, and they brushed their teeth side by side in the double sinks – Lydia’s toothbrush blue, Stiles’ purple – and then they went to separate bedrooms and fell asleep.

Some nights, Lydia crawled into his bed in the middle of the night because it was too cold. Sometimes Stiles had nightmares. Sometimes they just missed the comfort of another body, and one of them would end up in the other’s bed.

Stiles thinks in the last five years, he’s only slept alone once. (And that was because Scott had a veterinarian conference and Allison and Lydia went to visit Chris.)

Stiles likes Thursdays. Whenever Lydia is around, the knot in Stiles’ chest isn’t wound so tight.

*

Sundays go something like this:

Stiles wakes up and cooks pancakes for Allison. 

“You know this is cliché,” Allison had said the first morning. Stiles just shrugged and kept cooking them every week. “My mom always made pancakes on Sunday mornings,” he tells her one Sunday. She has her arms around his neck and her lips brushing the nape. “Six days out of the week we ate whatever, but Sundays she made big breakfasts.”

“For my mom, it was pumpkin pancakes.”

The first Sunday they ever spend together, Stiles completely forgets about the blueberry pancakes because Allison walks into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his Captain America t-shirt. It hangs on her small frame, but she’s so tall that when she raises her arms to run her hands through her messy hair, Stiles sees nothing but dark curls and the V of her thighs. He’s torn between wanting to go down on her right there in the kitchen, or press his face into her beautiful bed head. Bed head that she had gotten sleeping in _his_ bed.

Stiles crosses the kitchen and presses her up against the counter, eliciting a surprised moan from Allison. “I didn’t expect you to be so rough,” she says, and for a brief moment, Stiles wonders if he should dial it back, but she’s yanking his hair just this side of painful, and he realizes _she likes it._

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Stiles murmurs against her mouth as he slips his hand between her legs. She is already wet, and they both moan at the same time. Allison kisses her way down the column of his neck, biting and sucking the flesh but never enough to leave a mark. 

Allison likes to leave scratches. 

She digs her nails into Stiles’ back, blunt and filed short because of her bow, but presses with enough force that Stiles cries out at the pain. (Maybe he likes it, too.)

He has two fingers buried inside her cunt and his thumb circling her clit, and her hand is gripping his cock like a lifeline. She knocks a coffee cup to the floor when she comes, spasming around his fingers, and he comes all over his t-shirt. 

When they finally pull apart, the pancakes are burnt and glass shards and come are splattered on the floor. 

“You don’t get to make pancakes before we have sex in the mornings again,” Allison laughs. Stiles moves her away from the broken glass and pulls her to the floor, and fucks her from behind. She moans and pushes back against him eagerly, like she can’t get enough, and he kisses every bit of her creamy bare flesh he can. His knees are killing him, but she feels so good writhing and moaning under him that he can handle a bit of bruising the next day.

“I fucking love pancakes,” Stiles breathes as he lays sprawled on the floor, naked, watching as Allison giggles and starts a new batch of pancakes, this time only wearing his boxers. 

This is the moment he decides he loves shirtless Sunday mornings.

Monday mornings are almost as awesome, because he and Allison would fuck slow and steady before the sun even came up. They’d take separate showers, Allison leaving for work before he was even out of the shower. 

She always left him coffee in the coffee pot and a bagel already smeared in cream cheese.

Monday nights, Allison rides him after they go for a five mile run and rent a movie. He tells her he loves her, and feels sometimes like there’s no one in the world who understands him like Allison does, that sees things the way he does, because they’ve been staring at things from side by side for so long.

Stiles thinks maybe loves Allison more than anything in the world.

*

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are Stiles’ favorite days of the week. These are the days he gets to spend with Scott.

After a decade of dealing with Super Annoying Werewolf Shit (SAWS for short), Stiles is glad that things in Beacon Hills have settled down. Scott and Derek have an arrangement so that they both protect the territory, with Jackson and Isaac as cross-Pack members. Stiles thinks it sometimes gets really confusing because they’re all _technically_ part of the same Pack, though there is Scott’s side and Derek’s side to Beacon Hills. Once Stiles drew Scott a diagram. There were so many lines that even Stiles got confused, and for a brief, terrified moment thought that he was in a two-man Pack with just Jackson.

But all the SAWS has been over and done with since they all graduated college, so Scott just seems more like Scott these days rather than Scott the Alpha. 

Tuesday is pizza night. Stiles picks it up on his way home from work, and they eat while catching up. Scott tells him about what he and Lydia did on Sunday and Monday, and Stiles tells Scott about Allison. It was weird at first, Stiles being with Allison while Scott, well, _was not_. But high school first love turned into platonic love (Scott’s description, not Stiles’), and they just didn’t look at each other that way anymore. 

Stiles never tried to understand it. Scott tried to explain it to him one night, when they were curled around each other in the dark, sheets pooled at their feet. Those were the times that Scott opened up about important things. Stiles liked to talk about everything from the serious to the pointless, but Scott didn’t. Scott liked to keep things inside. But sometimes when they were sweaty and flushed, Scott started talking. Stiles just held him and let him go.

Wednesdays mean video games, and they curse and yell at each other until they’re hoarse.

“Fuck you, you fucking cock-sucking whore!” Stiles yells as he runs his car off into the lava. It’s his best track on Mario Kart, and fucking Scott knocked him off the bridge.

“Fuck you, motherfucker!” Scott yells as he takes first place. Stiles hits him with a red shell. “What the fuck! Cunt!”

“I thought you liked it from behind,” Stiles says, and Scott snorts and throws a banana peel at him. Stiles swerves. “I am much too skilled in handling your _banana_ to slip on the peels you leave behind.”

“That sounds gross,” Scott says, making a face.

“That’s the point, Scotty boy.”

The sixth time Scott falls off Rainbow Road, he throws the controller across the room and tackles Stiles. “What the fuck, Scott?! I was winning.”

Scott quiets all the rest of Stiles’ protests with his lips, kissing him and licking into his mouth filthily. Stiles tries to continue playing, but when Scott unbuttons the fly on Stiles’ pants and grabs his cock, Stiles mutters, “Fuck it,” and drops the controller in favor of grabbing Scott.

Scott wraps his lips around Stiles’ length, and Stiles takes a deep breath as he stares at the ceiling, his fingers flexing in Scott’s hair. Scott’s mouth is warm and sure, his tongue flicking over all the places that makes Stiles squirm and cry out. 

Stiles hooks a leg around Scott’s waist and flips them over, scooting down to kiss the traces of himself from Scott’s tongue. He reaches into the nightstand drawer for the lube, but Scott’s already got his fingers rubbing Stiles’ hole and dipping in shallowly. 

Stiles rides him, and they’ve only managed to get half their clothes off. Stiles has his pants still attached to one leg, his shirt hanging around his neck and his socks on. Scott managed to get his pants and underwear to his thighs before Stiles sunk down on his cock, and Stiles has his hands slid beneath his t-shirt, his thumb flicking Scott’s nipples over and over.

Scott holds his hips painfully as he fucks up into him, and Stiles knows he’ll have bruises that Scott will kiss later, that Allison will kiss, and later Scott will drag his tongue down the scratches Allison left on his back. 

They fall asleep after midnight, naked and watching late night comedy shows.

Stiles never feels as happy and safe as he does with Scott. Scott surrounds him with everything that is good in the world.

*

Fridays and Saturdays all four of them spend together. They do different things – train in the preserve, go to the movies, go camping, sit around in their underwear and play board games. It doesn’t matter to them what they’re doing, because the four of them together, all the pieces are there, they are complete.

They sleep in the same bed, hands roaming and mouths everywhere. Stiles fucks Scott while he goes down on Lydia and Allison fucks him with a strap-on, and Stiles feels like he’s coming undone in every way possible. Allison whispers into his ear as she thrusts into him, and Scott threads his fingers into Stiles’ hair, his fingers scratching along his scalp. 

Sometimes Stiles fucks Allison while Scott eats his ass and Lydia sits on Allison’s face. Stiles rests his forehead in the small of Lydia’s back, unable to decide if he should focus on Scott’s tongue in his ass or the warmth of Allison’s slick cunt. Lydia strokes his hair gently as she moans and arches under Allison’s talented tongue (Stiles knows just _how_ talented it is – sometimes it’s Allison licking his ass instead of Scott).

Some nights they fuck in a line, Scott fucking into Stiles while he fucks Allison from behind while she fucks Lydia. Those nights are slow, and Stiles loses whose whimpers and moans are whose. Those nights Stiles feels so overcome with emotion that Scott’s eyes bleed red from the overflow, or maybe it’s just they all feel the same way he does.

Sometimes Stiles and Scott sit against the headboard and jerk off while they watch Lydia go down on Allison. Sometimes the girls fuck themselves with sparkly vibrators while Scott and Stiles sixty-nine. Sometimes they pair off and fuck side by side, and Stiles is only focused only on the person under him, and other times they have contests to see who can last the longest and who can make their partner come the fastest (Stiles loves those nights; he never can last the longest, but he can make Allison and Scott come with just a swirl of his tongue and a crook of his finger).

But they always fall asleep together, cuddled so close that it’s hard to tell where one starts and the other begins. 

Stiles sometimes lies awake and listens to them sleep. Scott’s soft grunts and growls as he dreams, Allison’s soft breaths against his neck, Lydia’s quiet snores. Each one of them is like a different part of himself that’s slotted into place. His week is segmented into bits of them, into days laughing with Lydia, nights loving Allison, and moments living with Scott, but Fridays and Saturdays are the best days of the week. 

Fridays and Saturdays are when he’s home.

-fin


End file.
